


I'll Make it to the Moon if I Have to Crawl

by lalune15



Series: I Swear This Time I Mean It [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:04:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1735517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalune15/pseuds/lalune15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis are neighbors, kind of. And Louis doesn't know how he starts talking to his weird neighbor who speaks to plants and does yoga every morning, but once he starts, it's hard to stop. </p><p>AU where Harry and Louis live in adjacent apartment buildings and Louis is a surly writer who can't sleep and Harry likes to read philosophy to his plants at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this is the first fic I've ever written, ever. I saw a prompt on tumblr and for some reason I just decided to write it. I don't know too much about One Direction, to be honest, but something stuck in my head and I just started writing. I wrote this in about two hours right after I read the prompt, so it might suck, I don't know.
> 
> PLEASE leave comments. As I said, I've never written fic before and I'm not very active in the 1D fandom, so this is all kind of new for me. I don't know what made me start writing this, but I do like to write, and you have to start somewhere, right? I'm writing solo, no partners or editors, and I'm also not British, so I hope I'm using fairly accurate terms most of the time?
> 
> Inspired by an AU prompt tumblr user Zourrys wrote. 
> 
> Also, I don't own any of these characters. And the title is taken from "Scar Tissue" by The Red Hot Chili Peppers.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under the same name!

He’s fucking doing it again. Louis sits on his balcony, languidly puffing on his Mayfair and blowing smoke into the cool night air. His “neighbor,” the one with the curly hair and the tight jeans, is speaking to his fucking plants.

“That’s right, Rosie, it’s time to drink up,” the man says soothingly to his pot of rosemary sitting on the corner of his balcony. The corner that is located about one foot away from Louis’s balcony. How is it that two different apartment complexes are allowed to be so close to each other? “Christ,” Louis thinks. “If I wanted to live this close to someone else I would have a damn roommate.”

Louis is sitting on the chair he keeps on his balcony for nights like these, when the words can’t come to him and he starts to feel like a creative failure. He likes to sit in the cold night air, looking at the moon and asking her for guidance. Louis always liked the moon more than the sun. There’s something about her pale confidence, the way she expresses herself differently each night. She’s familiar, but not overpowering. After all, no one ever complains of passing out from the heat or light of the moon.

“I love you, Persephone,” the deep voice croons to another one of his plants. Louis rolls his eyes, wishing for some quiet, or at least a normal neighbor who prefers loud pop music and alcohol to speaking to plants and doing early morning yoga. And, seriously, who names their plant Persephone? Louis has always appreciated Greek mythology, but naming a freaking plant after the daughter of Zeus seems a little extravagant to him.

“He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have,” Louis hears his neighbor read to his little garden. And Christ, if naming a plant after a Greek goddess isn’t bad enough, now he’s reading Socrates to the damn things?

“Right, philosophy is well and good and all, but do you think you could do it somewhere more, y’know, not here?” Louis calls over the balcony, before he could even think about what he was saying. His mother always told him he needed to think before he speaks. 

“I’m sorry?” The weird neighbor turns to speak to Louis, and Louis can’t help but notice how his eyes widen and his brow furrows like a confused little boy. 

“Sorry, mate. I’m just saying. Some of us like to think in silence,” Louis says back with a small shrug, a half-assed apology if he’s ever given one.

“Well, some of us also like to breathe in peace, you know?” The neighbor says back to Louis, giving a pointed glance to the lit fag dangling in Louis’s hand, and the full ashtray lying next to his feet. 

“I’m sorry, does the goddess of vegetation dislike the smoke too?” Louis retorts, before stomping out his cigarette and marching back into his flat. Before he gets both feet inside though, he spins on his heel and strides over to the edge of his balcony, where is neighbor is still standing. “And just so you know, reading Socrates to a plant seems a little pretentious, doesn’t it? At least do Aristotle if you have to read philosophy to bloody plants! He actually studied botany!” And with that, Louis turns back around to stomp into his flat, but not before he hears a low chuckle come from the balcony next to his.

The next morning, Louis wakes to the sound of his alarm clock blaring some annoying song by one of those silly teenage girl singers. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing for ten more minutes, but he knows he has to get up so he’s not late to work. He stumbles into the shower, standing under the burning hot water until he feels adequately energetic, at least awake enough to get some coffee. He sits on his balcony, sipping at his black coffee. And, of course, that’s when he hears the sliding door from the apartment abnormally close to his opening and closing.

“Good morning, beauties,” Louis hears his neighbor say to his plants. He draws his knees up to his chest and pulls his hood over his damp hair, making himself as closed off as possible. He sighs deeply, wishing there was one moment he could sit outdoors without having to hear oddities coming from the man next door.

“You look gorgeous this morning, Persephone,” he hears the neighbor say to his plant. “Strong and beautiful, just like your namesake.” And Louis can’t help but think this last comment is a little pointed, which is why he reaches for the pack of cigarettes he really only smokes when he’s frustrated with his writing, and lights up. 

“You really think nicotine is the best way to start your day?” Louis hears a deep voice question. He turns, ready to go off on this idiot neighbor who reads philosophy to fucking plants, but is stunned by what he sees in front of him. His neighbor’s hair is pulled off his head by a scarf, an absurdly long headscarf that seems so idiotic but somehow accentuates the curls on his head and the emerald of his eyes. But what really has Louis staring is the tattoos adoring the man’s bare chest and torso, and Christ, are those birthmarks or does he have two more nipples than most humans do? Luckily, he’s wearing a pair of loose, low slung sweatpants, or Louis would have lost it.

“I, uh, I-“ Louis stammers for a moment, trying to gain his focus back. “Sorry, but it’s bloody early in the morning for you to start on my bad habits, especially when it seems you have some addictions of your own,” he says, running his eyes over the tattoos adorning his neighbor’s body and cocking one eyebrow.

“Well, at least mine doesn’t ruin lungs and taint the air that other living creatures use to breathe,” his neighbor says back, but his tone is more lighthearted now, and there’s a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before.

“Look, mate, you talk to plants and I smoke. Let’s just agree to try to annoy each other as little as possible until you inevitably decide to travel the world with the Peace Corps or join some hippie commune or something,” Louis says. “Now if you don’t mind, um, whatever your name is, I have to get ready for work.”

“It’s Harry,” Louis hears the deep voice call out as he turns back into his flat. “And I wouldn’t count on me going anywhere anytime soon, if I were you.”

Louis clocks in at the coffee shop, already counting down the minutes until his shift ends. He feels like such a fucking cliché, a struggling writer working at a damn Starbucks to cover his rent, but the job was open and he needed one, desperately. Who knew steaming milk and pouring coffee could be so difficult? To make matters worse, he really is not a people person. Especially not before 7 AM, which is when he needs to arrive to start prepping before the store opens at 8. He doesn’t normally work the early morning shift, but he needs the extra money and his coworker, a sprightly blond boy named Niall, asked to trade shifts. Since Niall is one of few people Louis actually tolerates, he really couldn’t say no. And that’s why he’s measuring out coffee grounds and sorting through tea boxes before he can properly think straight.

The doors have just opened and already, there’s a crowd. Louis works quickly and quietly, making drinks while his coworker, Eleanor, takes orders and mans the register. 

“Hey, Lou, can we switch, please?” She asks nicely, as there’s a small lull in between crowds. He really doesn’t want to deal with cranky customers waiting for their morning fix, but he knows Eleanor is fairly new still, and is itching to practice making drinks. He’s seen her studying the drink menu while it’s slow, memorizing the ingredients and writing tips down on her nametag, playing with the ends of her long, brown ponytail and fiddling with the bracelets she’s somehow allowed to wear during her shifts. She’s too pretty and nice for people to say no to her, and that’s why he finds himself agreeing and moving over to the register.

“I’ll have a venti English breakfast tea, decaf please,” a familiarly low voice says as Louis is counting tips under the counter, trying to guess how much he’ll walk away with at the end of his shift. And bloody hell, is Harry really here, now?

“You would drink decaf tea, you hippie,” Louis mutters as he rings Harry up for his order.

“And of course you’d work here. It’s perfect for you, full of people for you to criticize and sulk around,” Harry says back, with so much sarcasm that Louis is honestly surprised. He didn’t think this weird, yoga-loving, plant whisperer could be so biting. And of course, he was right. He’s rarely wrong.

“I’m sorry, that was rude,” Harry says, taking his change back from Louis. “Look, I don’t want to argue with my neighbor. It’s so cliché, right? Let’s start over?”

Louis doesn’t know what to say back, but he doesn’t have to, because the queue that has amassed behind Harry is grumbling with impatience. 

“I’ll see you later,” Harry says, stuffing some money into the tip jar. “I think Persephone really needs some bonding time tonight,” and with a wink, he walks down to the end of the counter to pick up his tea. 

“Brilliant,” Louis thinks. “I have to see this wanker everywhere, and now he thinks we’ll be friends. Fan- fucking-tastic.”

He’s sitting on his balcony that night, chain smoking as he thinks of the absolute rubbish he wrote tonight, and staring at the moon again. Her cold comfort is welcoming but really not that helpful. 

“Ah. Smoking again. Would you like to put that out and join us?” Harry asks, as he walks onto his own balcony and leans towards Louis. 

“Us?” Louis says back. “Sorry, I only interact with humans, and even that’s limited.”

“Oh, come on. Surely, you don’t mean that. I mean, you’ve been absolutely charming every time we’ve spoken!” Harry says back, emerald eyes twinkling. Louis shifts towards him and moves over slightly, though he still rolls his eyes as Harry starts actually stroking the leaves of one of his plants.

“You’re real funny, you know that?” Louis says back, watching him bend down to pat the soil in one of his pots. “What is that, anyway?”

“Oh, you mean Clio? She’s a sage plant,” Harry says, brushing his fingers over the leaves gently. 

“Clio?” Louis asks back. “As in the muse of poetry?”

“Yeah!” Harry says, brightening. Wow, he has nice dimples. “I didn’t know you liked Greek mythology.”

“I read a lot of mythology back in Uni, actually,” Louis replies. “I guess you did, too.”

“Oh, um, I actually didn’t go to Uni,” Harry says. “I took a few years to travel the world and intern with a photographer who was friends with my mother. I do freelance now.”

“Naturally,” Louis quips. “Why would you do something as mundane and ordinary as going to school? What, were all the spots in the peace corps taken?”

“Well, photography has always been my main passion,” Harry says, ignoring Louis’s snide comments. “Followed by botany, and cooking. I try to live as happily as I can, and for me, that didn’t involve further education. What about you, though? You seem a little tortured when you sit out here staring at the sky every night.”

“I write,” Louis says, in the gentlest tone Harry has ever heard him use. “Or at least, I try to. It’s not been going so well, lately. And the insomnia has always been a bad habit. But you know, ‘the moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to,’ and all that.”

“Carl Sandburg,” Harry says appreciatively. “You’re quite intelligent to pull out quotes like that. Not to mention, you seem to know a lot about Greek mythology and philosophers”

“Not as smart as I could be, I suppose,” Louis says. “At least, not smart enough to find a way to write my damn novel without smoking an entire case of cigarettes.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Harry says gently. He yawns, stretches, and bends down and oh, God, actually whispers into Clio’s pot before straightening back up. “Goodnight, Louis.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, just waves a hand in response, wondering how Harry knew his name. 

“It was on your nametag,” he hears from his right. “I noticed it this morning. It’s a nice name. Fits you, yeah?” And with that, Harry turns and floats into his flat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry turns 24 and we meet Ziam. Oh yeah, and there's some yoga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know when I said I'd post again in a few days you probably didn't think I meant the next day, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to write Harry's birthday and I wrote it very quickly so it probably sucks. I apologize.
> 
> Please leave comments, kudos, etc.! Feedback is so appreciated!
> 
> Also, as stated before, I don't know One Direction that well. So forgive me if there's some inconsistencies. I know Liam has five arrows, not three. I'm using some literary freedom.

Harry and Louis begin to talk more often, although it takes a lot of coaxing on Harry’s part. It starts the next night, when Louis sits out on his balcony again, puffing on his Mayfair and torturing himself with criticism because he can’t find a way to put his words to paper. He would never admit this, but he actually thinks he won’t mind if a certain green-eyed plant whisperer came outside with some words of wisdom. 

“Still haven’t written the next Da Vinci code, have you?” Louis hears coming from the next building.

“Surprisingly, no, I haven’t written the next critically acclaimed and universally loved novel since we spoke last night.” Louis says drily, stomping out his cigarette and lighting another in the next instant.

“Can you tell me what you have written, at least?” Harry asks, leaning his arms on the balcony and facing Louis. 

“I could, maybe, but I won’t,” Louis says, swiveling in his chair to face Harry. “It’s going to stay mine until I either finish it or let it destroy me. I’m beginning to think the latter is how we’ll end.”

“How we’ll end?” Harry asks. “Sounds like someone just referred to an object as having human qualities. You’ll even name it at some point, won’t you?”

“Oh piss off,” Louis says, but not without affection. “I’m not playing my unwritten novel calming music or reading to it. I still consider it an it,” he says, although the more he thinks about it, Harry does have a point. His novel is not just an “it,” it’s his. His baby, his efforts, and all of his spare time and energy. 

“You say that now,” Harry says. “But when I first got Persephone, she was just a packet of seeds. And now she’s family”

“Some family you’ve got,” Louis snorts back. “Will they throw you a birthday party and buy you presents?”

“Actually,” Harry says, with a smirk. “My birthday is coming up in a couple weeks. I think they will celebrate with me. And you, too, if you’d like to join us.”

“A plant party!” Louis exclaims with false happiness. “Sign me up,” he deadpans, stomping out his cigarette. 

“February 1st, Lou,” Harry says. “We’ll see you there.”

Louis just rolls his eyes and turns back into his flat, wondering why he sits in the cold when there’s a warm couch just inside.

The next evening, Louis drags himself inside after working all day, from open to close. Eleanor requested off and Louis needs the money, so he offered to cover her shift and still work his own. The only good news is that he works with Niall most of the day, who is damn near impossible to be unhappy around. Niall is a blue eyed, blond ball of energy, who knows how to charm customers with his Irish accent and cheery greetings whenever someone walks in. 

But even Niall’s happiness couldn’t stop Louis’s feet and back from aching as he lowers himself into his balcony chair, groaning from the pain in his lower back he got from stocking shelves earlier. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks, leaning over his railing.

“Just some back pain,” Louis mumbles, not really wanting to learn about plants or anything else on this particular evening.

“Lower back?” Harry asks. Louis nods in response.  
“You know,” Harry says slowly, as if he’s afraid to suggest what comes out next. “There are some yoga poses that could help with that.”

“And there’s a fat bloody chance of me doing yoga on my balcony with you,” Louis huffs back, because honestly.

“Suit yourself,” Harry says. “But it’s going to feel a lot worse after tossing and turning on it all night. Yoga is relaxing too. Maybe you’ll get some sleep if you try it.”

Louis says nothing, just stares his bright blue eyes straight ahead, not wanting to look at Harry and his earnest grin and green eyes. But as he hears Harry turn into his flat, he hears himself call out quietly, “Wait.”

“I knew you’d cave,” Harry says. “Do you have a yoga mat? Who am I kidding, of course you don’t. Stay there. I’ll toss one over to you.”

Louis doesn’t think he could move if he wanted to, the pain in his back demanding he sit right there. 

He closes his eyes and exhales, wanting to smoke but knowing he’ll have to hear it if he does. Something smacks into his lap, and he sees a plain black yoga mat sitting there.

“Okay,” Harry says softly. “We’re just going to do a few poses to stretch out your lower back. All you have to do is watch me and do what I do. I’ll go slowly and explain it to you.”

“Sure,” Louis says, rolling out his mat, unsure if he’s actually going to do it or just sit there and mock Harry under his breath.

“No cheating,” Harry says, as if he can read Louis’s mind. “I’ll know if you’re not doing the poses. Oh, and Louis?” 

“Yes?” Louis says, wanting to get this done with.

“No checking out my bum as I do a downward dog,” Harry says with a wink, and rolls out his own mat and takes off his shoes.

He leads Louis through a few poses, including downward dog and child’s pose, and by the end of it, Louis does feel much better, with Harry’s voice guiding him through it. 

“Better?” Harry asks, shaking Louis out of a stupor.

“Much, actually,” Louis says, a little surprised to hear himself admit it.

“I thought so,” Harry replies. “Now, get some sleep. Goodnight, Lou.”

“Goodnight, Haz,” Louis says back quietly, not sure if Harry could even hear him. He hates to say it, but he does feel much more relaxed after doing yoga with Harry. And if he happened to check out Harry’s tiny bum in his sweatpants, well, that was just part of the routine, right?

Aside from their one night doing yoga and a few short conversations, Harry and Louis don’t converse much over the next two weeks. In fact, Louis doesn’t even leave his apartment for a week, finally hitting his stride with his novel and doing some serious writing. He hasn’t smoked a cigarette in five days.

It isn’t until the end of January that Louis sees Harry again, when he steps into Starbucks one afternoon. 

“Long time, no see,” Harry says to Louis, his deep voice rumbling in Louis’s ears. Has he actually missed him?

“Tea?” Louis asks, already knowing that’s what Harry will want.

“Yes, please,” Harry says, handing him some cash and stuffing the change in the tip jar. “Where have you been the last few nights?”

“Writing, actually,” Louis says, unable to contain the smile on his face when he can finally say he’s written something worthwhile. “I’ve been pretty focused.”

“That’s great,” Harry says, smiling. His hair is loose and long today, extra curly from the drizzle outside. Louis thinks he looks like he just woke up, in a good way. The rumpled, contented look of someone who hasn’t fully realized the day is here again yet. “But Persephone and I have been wondering about you. Come out again soon, yeah?” And he walks down to the end of his counter to pick up his tea from Niall. 

Louis sees them making conversation but doesn’t think anything of it. Niall will talk to anyone, including babies. They don’t have to talk back for Niall to hold a conversation. 

He’s heading into the back to wash some dishes when Niall bursts in behind him. “Louis Tomlinson, you’ve been holding out on me!”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” Louis asks, scrubbing at a particularly stuck chocolate stain on a small dessert plate.

“I’m talking about that tall, handsome lad who you’ve been talking to late at night!” Niall booms back, gesturing wildly.

“Oh, you mean Harry?” Louis asks back, wondering exactly how long Niall and Harry were talking.

“Yes, I mean Harry!” Niall says back, smacking him on the arm. “Who else do you talk to, besides me and your mum? Unless you have a whole secret life I don’t even know about,” he half jokes, raising his eyebrows.

“Harry’s just my neighbor,” Louis grunts back. “I wouldn’t call it ‘talking,’ more like annoying chatter when I can’t sleep and he decides to read to his bloody garden.”

“That’s not what it looks like to me,” Niall says back. “For starters, he’s incredibly fit. Even I can appreciate that.” 

Louis hates to say it, but Niall does have a point. Harry is attractive, and Niall’s about as close to an American frat boy as an Irish barista can be. He loves girls and beer, in that order.

“And second,” Niall continues, “You’ve been blushing this entire conversation. Does he know you like him? Does he like you back?”

“For starters, Niall, I don’t like him. Christ, I’m a grown man, not a twelve-year-old girl. And I don’t know if he likes me, I don’t even know if he’s straight or not.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Lou. He was making some serious googly eyes at you when you weren’t looking, lad.”

“Are you quite finished?” Louis asks back, irritated. “Aren’t there some customers you need to charm into giving us more tips?”

“Fine,” Niall says, backing out towards the counter again. “But I give it two weeks tops until one of you makes a move!”

Niall is kind of right. Later that night, Louis takes a break from his screen and heads outside to get some fresh air. And if he sees Harry, then so be it.

“Finally!” He hears, the moment he steps onto the balcony. “Rosie and I were getting a little impatient.”

“Rosie?” Louis says. “I thought I was Persephone’s favorite.” And dear God, he can’t believe he’s joking with his neighbor about his freaking plants, but he also can’t deny the little happy hum that goes through him. He missed Harry, missed his deep voice and his dimples when he smiles and the weird philosophy and poetry he reads aloud to his plants, but Louis thinks, maybe Harry’s reading it to him, too.

“Well, we were all getting a little bored, waiting around to see if we could maybe persuade you to come celebrate my birthday with me tomorrow.”  
“How old are you, anyway?” Louis asks. He knows Harry looks young, but he’s also tall, very tall, and has some build to him that suggests he’s not that young.

“I’ll be 24 in about…an hour and a half,” Harry says, glancing at his watch to check the time.

“Aw, you’re such a baby,” Louis coos. He knows 26 isn’t that old, but Louis believes 25 is the firm line between young adult and official adult, no matter what the law states. 

“How old are you then, grumpy?” Harry calls out, thinking that Louis can’t be too much older than him. In fact, with his bright blue eyes and shaggy caramel hair, he would think Louis is younger than he is.

“26,” Louis responds. “Old enough.”

“Nah,” Harry says. “26’s nothing. I think you have to be at least 75 before you’ve seen something of life.”

“Says the 24 year old,” Louis replies sarcastically. 

“How’s the novel?” Harry asks. “You’re not smoking, so why are you out here?”

“The novel’s coming along. And I’m out here for a breather. I can only smell my dirty laundry for so long before I need a break.”

“Uh huh,” Harry says drily. “You’re definitely not out here because I said I missed you.”

“Nope,” Louis says, but he knows he’s smiling. “Definitely not.”

“’Sarcasm is the protest of the people who are weak, Lou,’” Harry says, but he’s joking, his dimples marking his face adorably.

“You’re quoting A Separate Peace? Be still, my heart!” Louis calls out, dramatically clutching at his chest.

“Hey, I need something to get the cute guys,” Harry flirts back. And that’s when it hits Louis. He could really do this. He could flirt with Harry and maybe date Harry and maybe have a chance with Harry. And that terrifies him beyond belief. He pulls out his phone, pretending to occupy himself until he hears Harry begin to read. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, listening to the deep comfort of Harry’s voice. He feels himself start to drift and startles awake, glancing at his phone to check the time.

“Hey, it’s midnight. Happy 24th, Harry!”

“So you’ll come?” Definitely not the response Louis was expecting.

“What?”

“To my party? Tomorrow? Or later today, actually? There will be food and drinks and actual other people, I swear. Not just myself and the plants.”

Louis smiles, thinking that maybe just Harry would be enough to bribe him.

“Sure, Harry. I’ll come.”

“Brilliant. Night, Lou.” Harry turns and walks back into his flat, leaving Louis alone outside. Louis looks up at the moon, asking her to send him some of her tranquil serenity. How the fuck is he going to go to Harry’s tomorrow and not make an arse of himself? He doesn’t typically enjoy parties. They’re loud and crowded and typically make Louis feel small and out of place. Which is why he decides to bring a date.

“Louis! And Niall! Nice to see you both,” Harry exclaims as he opens the door to his flat that night.

“Cheers, lad!” Niall says back, giving him a quick hug and handing him a bottle of whiskey that he and Louis bought before coming over. 

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Louis says. “For the second time, I might add.”

“I’m happy you came, Lou. Really.” And Harry’s dimples are so deep and his eyes are so green that Louis thinks he might have stopped breathing. “Don’t just stand out here, mate. Come in and meet my friends, have a drink.” Harry steps aside, welcoming Louis into his home.

Louis walks in and stops. He expected Harry’s flat to be a bit sparse, but elegant. Maybe with that feng shui shit people talk about all the time. But it’s not what Louis expected at all. It’s bright and happy. 

Harry’s sitting room walls are a creamy, beautiful white with a hint of yellow in them. But it doesn’t matter because they’re covered, ceiling to floor, with pictures. Some in frames, some taped up, but everywhere. The photos are of people and animals and yes, plants, colorful and lively. The floors are wood, with throw rugs placed around. And his furniture is fluffy and welcoming, not stiff or modern, as Louis might have expected. It’s comfortable. It’s homey. And Louis feels like he can breathe again.

Niall is, of course, speaking to a couple that Harry leads Louis over to.

“Louis, meet Zayn and Liam.”

“Hi,” Louis says, feeling awkward and shy. He hates meeting new people.

“S’nice to meet you, mate,” says Zayn, the shorter man with quiffed dark hair and an arm covered in tattoos. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Cool,” Louis says, wishing he could say more but words just won’t come to him.

“Good things, I hope!” Niall jumps in, slinging an arm around Louis.

“All good things,” the other man, Liam, says, casually tucking a finger into one of Zayn’s belt loops. “Heard you have quite the way with words.”

“I don’t know about that,” Niall says, laughing. “He’s been complaining about his neighbor who reads to his garden for weeks.”

“Have not,” Louis mutters, elbowing Niall gently. 

“It’s true,” Harry says, coming up beside Louis from where he was entertaining other guests. “I was pissing him off with the Socrates. Poor Persephone was not a fan of the biting comments from across the way.”

“Well, Persephone has my deepest apologies,” Louis gets out, relaxing as they all laugh.

“So, how long have you two been together?” Niall asks Zayn and Liam.

“A couple years,” Liam says. “We actually met because of Harry. He’s been my best mate since we were in diapers. He dragged me along to get a tattoo with him about four years ago, and that’s when I met Zayn. He designed some of Harry’s tattoos.”

“All of my favorites,” Harry says, gesturing to his upper arm, which is covered by the sleeves of his jumper. 

“Have you got any?” Zayn asks Louis and Niall. Niall shakes his head no, and Louis only says “A few.” Not as many as Harry or Zayn, in any case.

“If you ever want one, you should come down to my shop,” Zayn says, pulling out a card with the number on it. “If you’re good to Harry I’ll give you a discount.”

“Zayn just did one for me,” Liam says, rolling up his sleeve. There’s three thick arrows tattooed on his arm. “An arrow for me, an arrow for him, and one for our daughter, Isla. 

“How is my little princess?” Harry asks, smiling.

“She’s perfect,” Zayn says. “But I miss her already, and we’ve only been apart for about an hour.”

“How old?” Louis asks, surprising himself by joining the conversation.

“She’s six months,” Liam says. “Tonight’s our first night away from her together. We try not to both be gone at the same time, but for her favorite uncle, we had to make an exception.”

“Well, I can’t let you spend your first night out sober!” Harry exclaims. He pours them all shots, and all of the men knock them back.

Harry walks around, greeting other guests and making drinks. Zayn and Liam start talking about Isla, wondering if they can call their babysitter, and Niall has already found a pretty girl to start talking to.

Louis pulls out his phone, wishing he was in his own flat and alone. He hates this awkward feeling, like he’s incapable of socializing with people.

“Hey, it’s my party,” Harry says, pulling Louis’s phone out of his hands. “I’m the only one who can cry if I want to.”

“Clever,” Louis retorts.

“Come on,” Harry says, grabbing his hand. Louis pretends he doesn’t feel butterflies, not even a little bit. It doesn’t stop him from letting Harry lead him around the flat though, pouring him a glass of wine and introducing him to his friends. 

Harry stays by Louis for the rest of the night, refilling his wine glass and making sure to pull him into conversation. It’s after Zayn and Liam leave to see Isla that other guests begin to get up, making their way out. Niall leaves with a brunette he was talking to earlier, and Louis can’t help but notice how she resembles Eleanor. He makes a note to ask Niall about her later. 

“Did you have fun?” Harry asks, his lips against Louis’s ear. And Louis doesn’t feel his knees go weak. No, he definitely doesn’t.

“Yeah, I had a good time,” Louis says. Harry’s tipsy and warm and so close and Louis knows Harry is about to kiss him. But he can’t. He can’t, because Harry’s so cheerful and colorful and unique and Louis is just a surly writer who can’t even talk to strangers at the age of 26. He begins to pull back slightly.

“D’you want to-“ Harry begins to ask, reaching for his hand before Louis cuts him off.

“Good night, Harry. Happy birthday.” And he walks out and back to his apartment, cursing himself the entire time.

Louis is sitting on his balcony, smoking, when he hears Harry’s balcony door open. Shit. He thought Harry would be in bed by now, it was almost three in the morning.

“Lou?” Louis hears him call quietly.

“Yeah, Haz?” Louis says back, walking over to the railing facing Harry’s flat and leaning on it.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier. I thought maybe you liked me or at least tolerated me and I didn’t mean to ruin whatever friendship we were starting. But, for the record, I really am happy you came. Goodnight.”

“Harry,” Louis says, but he can’t think of anything else to say. For a writer, he really is shit with his words.

Harry brightens when he hears his name, and turns back to Louis. “Louis, would you like to come over tomorrow night? For dinner? With me?”

Louis knows it’s a date, knows he’d be making himself vulnerable to Harry, but he can’t help it. 

“Yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I can't say I'm too thrilled with this chapter. I felt like it was taking me too long to write it and the words wouldn't flow the right way, so I kind of just did what I could with it and made it something ok. But things are getting interesting now, so there's more to come. And thanks to everyone who's commented or left kudos! You have no idea how happy I am when I see them.

“I know I probably shouldn’t bother, but is everything alright?” Eleanor asks Louis the next day, watching him wipe up exploded, hot milk that he scalded for the fifth time that day. Today has not been his finest work.

“Fine, fine,” Louis says, waving a hand as if to reassure that he is, as he said, fine.

“I thought you would say that. I don’t want to bother you, really, but you’ve burned the milk five times already today and you spilled hot coffee on yourself and-“

“That’s enough for today, I think,” Louis hisses shortly. “I don’t need a list of all my mistakes.”

“That’s not how I meant it and you know it,” she shoots back. “I’m concerned because you don’t seem like yourself, you prat.”

“Fine, if you must know, I’m just a little nervous. I have a date tonight. And I don’t really know how to handle it. I don’t exactly do this type of thing often.”

“You don’t say?” Eleanor deadpans, raising her eyebrows. Louis chuckles lowly, thinking that she really would be perfect for Niall. Sweet, smart, and gorgeous. 

He’s not lying. Louis has maybe been on five dates in the past two years. He’ll say it’s because it’s hard to meet people when he’s either working or holed up in his flat, writing, but he knows that’s not it. Not only is he “unapproachable,” as people love to point out to him, but he doesn’t know how to date. And, to be honest, he never really cared to. In his teenage years he had a couple of girlfriends, even had sex with a few of them, but it never really meant much to him, and he never felt too upset when they broke it off with him. Even once he realized he preferred men, he wasn’t very interested in dating. In fact, until recently, he’d begun to think he’d live his life alone, writing when he wanted to write, having casual sex when he needed to, and staying alone most of the time. A dog, maybe, at some point. 

“Is it with your neighbor? The fit bloke who likes to drink decaf tea?”

“Um, yes,” Louis says back, a little confused. “How did you know about that?”

“You know, Louis, for a writer you really are crap at observing things. Like that he’s come in quite often over the past few months and follows you with your eyes, even though you didn’t notice him until recently.”

Louis just grunts in response. He’s observant, when he wants to be. 

“And I might have heard that you were taking Niall to a party he was throwing. Last night, wasn’t it? I know you wouldn’t have done that if you weren’t interested.”

“Niall can’t keep his bloody mouth shut, can he?” Louis asks rhetorically, noticing the blush spread on Eleanor’s cheeks.

“Look, I’m not going to pry. But if you want some advice, he already likes you. Just go in and be yourself. Maybe a little less grumpy, but essentially yourself. And bring a bottle of wine. Ooh, or flowers? He likes plants right?”

“Christ, Eleanor, I’m not bringing him flowers. What am I, a fifteen year old boy about to bring a girl to some high school dance?”

“See, that’s exactly what I meant about being less grumpy. Oh, and wear a blue shirt with some skinny jeans. Show off your eyes and your bum!”

The look Louis gives her is enough for her to drop the subject for the rest of their shift.

The scary thing is, Louis thinks as he gets dressed to go to Harry’s, is that at his age, dating is no longer fun. It’s a big, scary risk, and the outcome is either breaking up or getting married. No quick shags in the backseat of cars, sneaking in after curfew. It’s serious, now. And he’s never been able to imagine himself loving, or even liking, someone enough that he wants to spend his forever with that person. He’s a fairly moody person. He likes to be alone and brood, and he’s never been good at faking niceties. What Louis wants, Louis does, and when he doesn’t want to be somewhere or do something, it shows on his face. Maybe he should just cancel. 

But he doesn’t cancel. He walks over, bottle of wine in hand, and takes three deep breaths before knocking on Harry’s door. He fiddles with the end of his shirt, an old striped T-shirt from his preppy teenage years, which he chose because the stripes were blue (thank you, Eleanor). It fits him a little more snug than it did back then, but not in a bad way. Just in a way that shows off his small tummy, which most people tend to find quite adorable. He could be in better shape, he supposes, but that would involve exercise, something Louis loathes on principle. He keeps in shape by being either too broke to eat a lot or too busy writing to find the time to go out and eat. 

“Lou, you made it! Come on in,” Harry says in his deep, dragging voice, swinging the door open. “I’ve just put the pasta in, I figured that you probably eat pasta because I don’t really know what you like and-“

“Yeah, pasta’s good,” Louis says, cutting Harry off before he goes even deeper into his ramble. Louis’s heard him talk to his plants, he knows how long Harry can talk. “I guess it’s good I brought red wine,” he adds, holding up the bottle.

“Y’know, every time you come to my flat, you give me liquor. Are you trying to get me drunk?” Harry teases, raising his eyebrows to let Louis know he’s joking. “You are coming in, aren’t you?” He asks, not so joking this time, as Louis is still awkwardly standing on his doorstep.

Louis walks in and looks around the flat again as Harry walks off to the kitchen. He studies the photos on the wall, some of plants, but many of people. He sees two women who he know must be related to Harry, they look so much alike, and a few of Harry with Zayn and Liam, along with a few close-ups of a red-haired baby whom he assumes is Isla. But mostly, there are stangers, at least to him, but he can’t imagine Harry knows all these people. There are women in sari’s, tribal looking men, people dressed like hipsters, a group of seniors, and many, many more. They’re all beautiful, a little unique. Like Harry, he thinks.

“So you’ve noticed my wall of shame?” Harry asks, walking over with two glasses of wine in just one of his hands, which Louis noticed are really quite massive.

“Shame? Are you mad? These are beautiful. Did you take all of these?”

“Yeah, these are my favorites,” Harry says. “I feel a little weird hanging photos of people I don’t even know in my flat, but I loved something about all of these pictures. Like that one, see?” He points out a photo to Louis of a little girl asleep on her father’s shoulder, in the midst of a giant, celebrating crowd. “Look at how cute and unaware she is. I loved that I could capture that forever, her sleeping in total oblivion to the world around her.”

“No one noticed you taking that picture?”

“No, but I did get her father’s email address and sent him a copy. He loved it. And that’s why I love photography. I get to capture the little beautiful moments that make up a life, without it being obvious. Like yeah, wedding photos and portraits are great and all, and they’ve definitely helped pay the bills, but do you honestly enjoy posing for those? And do they really come out that well? You can tell when someone loves the subject of their photo or when they’re just taking it for a job. Personally, I’d rather see someone’s drunk selfie with their best friend than their posed, planned out photographs. ”

“You’re really passionate about this, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah. Do things with passion or not at all and all that,” Harry says. “You should know what that’s like.”

“Maybe,” Louis replies. “But you must have a lot of passion, then. I mean, you read to fucking plants, which I still find odd, you do yoga, you take beautiful photos, you have great friends. Stop me when you think I’ve covered it all.”

“I actually cooked the dinner we’re about to eat as well,” Harry says, smiling.

“It better be good then, you tosser,” Louis says, laughing. “I better taste the passion.”

“Come on then,” Harry says, grabbing Louis’s hand. Louis feels a tingle shiver down his entire being and lets himself be led out onto Harry’s balcony.

“We’re eating out here?” Louis asks. “Mate, I appreciate that you want to surround yourself with beauty and all that, but I’m not really interested in freezing my arse off on a balcony at night in February.”

“That’s why they invented space heaters, mate,” Harry quips. “Space heaters and warm food and good wine. Trust me, you’ll love it. And if you can sit outside to smoke, you can certainly sit outside to eat.”

Louis wants to argue, he does, because he really doesn’t fancy the idea of eating in freezing cold temperatures, but if he’s honest with himself, Harry has a really good argument there. It’d be pretty hard to argue with that one.

“Fine. What can I do to help?”

Harry and Louis carry out a big salad and a steaming bowl of pasta, along with the rest of the wine and plates and forks. Louis steps onto the balcony and notices how Harry has pushed his plants to the perimeter of the balcony, and filled the middle with large, flat cushions and a small, low table, along with some blankets and yes, a space heater. He strung up lights around the railing of the balcony, and with the light of the moon, it really is quite romantic.

“You’re quite the hipster, Harry. Look at this!” But Louis says it with a gentle tone in his voice, and his blue eyes give away how awed he is by what Harry has managed to create with his small space. Louis’s balcony has one chair and an ashtray. 

“I don’t think I’m the only hipster here, Sir Starbucks,” Harry remarks. “Last I checked, your habits are pretty in with the kids these days.”

“Ok, grandpa,” Louis says back. “’In with the kids?’ You’re 24. You are a kid. And I can’t believe you just said that.” He rolls his baby blues and takes a seat on one of the cushions by the table, Harry dropping gracefully into one across the table from him. 

“Shut up and eat,” Harry retorts. “Cheers!”

Louis doesn’t have much to compare too, but so far, this is the best date he’s ever been on. None of the awkwardness that tends to accompany Louis into formal restaurants or quiet coffee shops. It’s a little sarcastic, like Louis, and a little unorthodox, like Harry, but it works. And Harry really is a good cook.

They eat comfortably, talking idly about television and music and sports. Harry really isn’t into sports, but he knows enough to keep up with Louis, who loves football. And Louis doesn’t know as many bands and artists as Harry does, but he can talk about music enough to entertain Harry, who clearly has even more passion than Louis knew. Louis likes talking to Harry, with his slow, lazy voice that pours over Louis like maple syrup. He likes looking at Harry’s emerald eyes and the dimples that pop up when Harry smiles. He likes the shivers he feels when Harry brushes his hand or bumps their legs together. He likes the curls that adorn Harry’s head, thick and soft, a deep chestnut brown. But mostly, he likes that with Harry, his anxieties and moods tend to disappear and are replaced with a warm contentment.

They end up carrying the dishes inside and leaving them on the counter before heading back out to share a blanket and finish the bottle of wine. They’re both full on food and wine, a little tipsy, but in a good way. They’ve abandoned the glasses, alternating swigs from what little is left in the bottle. They’re looking at the moon, still not touching but very close.

“Lou?” Harry questions, slowly. “What are you thinking about? I know you’re pretty quiet and I respect that, but I’m kind of wondering what goes on inside your head.”

“Well, a lot of the time I’m thinking about my novel. The characters, the setting, making sure everything is fitting into place. I also think about my own future, and how long I can survive on my schedule of work and writing and smoking, without much else. But right now? I’m thinking that I feel very content, here, with you.”

Louis exhales deeply after that, thinking of how that last bit just kind of poured out of him. He means it, though. Louis doesn’t say much that he doesn’t mean. He worries he said too much or sounded too cheesy, but he feels Harry grab his hand under the blanket they’re sharing. Harry laces their fingers together, tightly but not too tight, the perfect amount of warmth. Their breath comes out in short puffs, mixing into the cold night air. The moon is full and bright, shining down on them with her comforting beauty. 

They finish the bottle of wine, passing it between them with their free hands, keeping their middle two hands laced together. “You know,” Louis says, feeling just tipsy and happy enough to speak without thinking. “Traditionally, the February moon is called the snow moon or the ice moon. I guess they make sense, but I feel pretty warm right now.”

“You know so much, Lou,” Harry marvels. “I think there’s a lot you have hidden within that big brain of yours.”

“Not bloody likely,” Louis retorts. “It’s more like a storage vault for useless information.”

“It’s not useless,” Harry says. “Everything you know, you know for a reason. Something sticks out about these facts for you to remember them. It’s like me with my photos. We keep what’s important to us, whether we’re aware of why it’s important at the time.”

“Harry Styles,” Louis says. “You always have something wise to say.”

“Not bloody likely,” Harry echoes. They both laugh, light and happy and drunk on moonlight and red wine.

Harry yawns and rests his head on Louis’s shoulder. 

“I think I should go,” Louis says softly. “You’re tired.”

“No,” Harry says, like a small child. “Stay.” And that’s when he sits up and reaches his palm around to cup the back of Louis’s neck, leaning in and pressing his lips against Louis’s softly. 

They pull apart gently, reluctantly. “I guess I can add kissing to your list of passions,” Louis says. “Seems like you’re a man of many talents, Mr. Styles.”

“I don’t think I’m alone in that department,” Harry murmurs, running his thumb over Louis’s cheekbones. He leans in again, sucking on Louis’s bottom lip and nibbling gently. Louis parts his lips slightly and angles his head, deepening their kiss. 

“Wait,” Louis says, after they’ve been making out for a few minutes. “Shouldn’t we do this somewhere less…exposed?”

“Exposed?” Harry asks, furrowing his eyebrows. “We’re on a high balcony in the dark in the middle of winter, Lou. I think we’re ok.”

“But…what about them?” Louis asks, gesturing at the potted plants lining Harry’s balcony.

“The plants?” Harry asks incredulously, looking like he’s trying not to laugh. “Oh Louis. You’re cute.”

They kiss again, slowly, languidly. They kiss sweetly, running hands through hair and curling palms around necks, keeping everything innocent. They kiss like they both know they’ll have all the time in the world to go further, but for now, they’re just enjoying the moment. Louis may not be sure what he wants out of life, but he knows he doesn’t want to mess this up. 

“Harry,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s collarbones, as his lips ghost over Harry’s skin.

“Yeah, babe?” 

“It’s late.”

Harry groans, pulling himself away from Louis but keeping their fingers interlocked. He walks Louis over to the front door, backing him into it and kissing him gently for a few more minutes.

“Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Good night, Harry. Sweet dreams.”

Louis turns and walks out of the flat reluctantly, wishing he could stay with Harry all night. But his head has always won out over his heart, and he knew he had to cut himself off before he fell completely under Harry’s spell. 

“Louis?” He stops, hearing Harry whisper his name into the hallway.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t think I’m forgetting you referred to my plants as people. Persephone and I have already decided you’re part of the family now. We’ll expect to see you again soon.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Good night, weirdo,” Louis says, smiling as he walks out of Harry’s building. 

“Good night, Louis.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so first of all, a HUGE thank you to everyone who's been leaving comments and kudos! I love reading them and I get so happy when I see them! Second, I did not intend for it to take a week for me to write the next chapter, but I've been so busy, I just wrote the entire thing in the past two hours.
> 
> I don't normally plan out my chapters, but I generally have a vague idea of where I want them to go. This chapter was difficult. I couldn't think of an idea, and once I did, I strayed from it completely as I wrote this. It's honestly nothing like I planned it to be. So I hope it doesn't suck too much?
> 
> I'm thinking that maybe I'll make this a series, wrap up this first part in the next two chapters, and then write from later periods in their lives together? I'm not quite sure, but that's where my head's at right now. So yeah. Sorry this has been so long. Let me know what you think!

“Someone’s sporting sex hair this morning!” Niall booms across the small shop two weeks later, as Louis walks in to start his shift.

“Shut up, you idiot,” Louis mumbles, but there’s a smile on his face that he can’t seem to hide. 

“C’mon lad, don’t be shy! Let’s hear all about it,” Niall jokes, waggling his eyebrows with what Louis thinks is the world’s most idiotic grin on his face.

“Piss off,” Louis replies, not caring enough to think of a better retort. 

“Fine, don’t tell me,” Niall says. “But I bet you have a hard time sitting down this morning. Have you seen the size of Harry’s hands? Massive.”

“I hate you,” Louis mutters, walking towards the back to prepare trays of cookies and muffins for the food case. 

He can hear Niall laughing at the counter as he pulls the dough out of the freezer. He grins to himself for a minute, thinking Niall’s not entirely wrong.

Harry and Louis had been attempting to take things slow. They chatted across their balconies in the mornings, ate dinner or watched movies at night, or snuggled on Harry’s balcony under blankets in the cold night. Louis had a strong hatred towards those couples who text each other relentlessly and mushy displays of affection, and Harry knew better than to try with him. With Louis, Harry had figured, it was all about the right move at the right time. To be honest, they hadn’t even been that far physically, before Louis decided to pounce on him.

They were on Harry’s balcony, which was becoming a nightly tradition for them. Louis had been lying with his head on Harry’s shoulder, hands intertwined over their tangled legs. “Louis?” Harry had asked.

“Yeah?” Louis whispered, not wanting to open his eyes.

“Have you ever noticed that your hair smells perpetually of coffee?”  
“Really?” Louis huffs, exasperated. “We’re having a nice, silent moment out here, I’m practically falling asleep, and you’re busy thinking of how my hair smells?”

“Well, y’know, it’s like right there and you work with coffee and chocolate and other good smelling things and the smell just kind of lingers, yeah? Not that it’s bad or anything, it’s just noticeable. I like it, it smells like you. And-“

“Harry.” Louis interrupts what could become a very long ramble. “It’s ok. I was just being a bit sarcastic. You’ve got to stop apologizing every time I say something cheeky or we’re never going to work.”

“So you think we’re going to work, then?” Harry looks at him with bashful eyes, a small blush on his cheeks. 

“God, you’re such a dork,” Louis replies, rolling his eyes. “I haven’t given much thought about it, to be honest.” 

What a blatant lie that is. Louis thinks about it quite a bit, actually. Harry has occupied about 90% of his thinking space, and Louis’s pretty sure he’s only going to become a larger presence in his life. He looks forward to hearing Harry read to his plants every night with his deep, maple syrup voice. He loves when Harry kisses him when he first sees Louis, curling his fingers through the belt loops of Louis’ trousers to pull him closer. He’s even been drinking less coffee and more tea. A lot more tea. A part of him wants to tell Harry all of that, but even with his limited dating experience, he knows two weeks is pretty early to spill all of that to someone and not have that person run away. 

“Can I be even more dorky and tell you that I have thought about it?” Harry asks rhetorically, not waiting for an answer. “I think about us a lot, Lou. And I think we’re going to work. I can feel it.”

“I forgot, you’re psychic, along with your ability to speak to plants,” Louis says sarcastically, but he knows he’s smiling because Harry is so dorky, but in the best way. 

“Yeah, well I’ve always had a strong intuition,” Harry admits. “And I think I can read you pretty well.”

“Oh yeah?” Louis mocks, cocking one eyebrow. “Try me.”

“You only smoke when you’re frustrated. Which has been a lot less, lately,” Harry says, grinning. “You say that people find you cold or unapproachable, but I don’t think so. You have a unique sense of humor, and you’re not easily impressed. So you may not smile all the time, but when you do, it means something. I actually feel quite proud when I make you smile, or laugh, because I know you really are happy or amused by something I said or did. And you’re not afraid to speak your mind, but you tend to keep your thoughts to yourself unless provoked. But you give away everything you’re thinking in your face. And you’re very smart, but not in the pretentious way. You’re smart in the quiet way, the way that presents itself at the right opportunity. Everything you do has a reason. Is that correct?” He finishes, looking at Louis with a question in his deep green eyes.

Louis studies Harry for a moment, head cocked, taking in his chestnut curls, the worry that knots between his eyebrows when Louis doesn’t immediately respond. He runs his eyes over Harry’s arms, covered by a green jumper, and his long legs, clad in black skinny jeans. He looks Harry up and down, as if he’s weighing something in his mind. Harry watches him anxiously, afraid he’s said too much, like a stalker or something and Louis’s going to run back to his own flat before finding a place to move to, far away from him, the weirdo who basically gave Louis a rundown of his own personality. 

Louis’ bright blue eyes lock with Harry’s green ones, and before Harry can begin to apologize or say something to ease the tension, Louis is on him, kissing him fiercely and wrapping his fingers in Harry’s curls. He shifts over so he’s sitting in Harry’s lap, never breaking his contact with him, as he kisses Harry deeply and begins to move his hands down Harry’s neck, running down his back and toying with the edge of Harry’s shirt. Harry kisses him back, sliding his tongue into Louis’ mouth and running it over the edge of his teeth. His arms have locked around Louis’ back, holding Louis onto his lap with a tightness that’s meant to keep Louis as close as possible without forcing him to do anything. 

Louis grinds a bit on Harry’s lap as his hands run over Harry’s smooth abdomen and brush over his hips, before Louis stops to lift Harry’s shirt over his head completely. 

“Louis, we don’t have to-“

“Oh, shut up,” Louis spits, bringing his lips back to Harry’s. They kiss for a few more minutes before Harry decides to pull of Louis’s shirt, because it’s really only fair. Both shirtless, Louis wiggles out of Harry’s lap slightly and presses him down, so he’s lying on top of Harry’s long, lean body flat against the floor of the balcony. 

Louis is kissing down Harry’s neck, lips ghosting across the tattoos on Harry’s tattoos and biting in certain places, leaving some marks he knows Harry will sport for a few days. Harry has his right hand running through Louis’s coffee-smelling hair, his left clutched around Louis’ hip, his heart beating so hard he’s sure Louis can feel it pounding against his chest. He’s straining against the zip of his jeans and knows Louis is too, but as he moves his fingers to the band of Louis’s jeans, Louis pulls back and sits up, panting. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Harry stammers, not quite sure what to say. Louis kisses him swiftly and sweetly before sitting back up and saying, “Harry, it’s ok. It’s just…we’re a little out in the open here and there’s all of your weirdly human plants around and it’s cold and-“ And this time Harry cuts Louis off, pressing a finger to his lips and sitting up to a respectable position.

“Louis? Would you, maybe, want to come to my room?”

“Yes.”

Harry groans before standing, reaching down to grab Louis’s hand and lacing their fingers together as he pulls him up and leads him into his bedroom, leaving their discarded shirts on the balcony outside. 

Louis wakes up the next morning, in Harry’s bed, confused as to where he is and why there’s a cup of tea on the stand next to him with a note underneath. He blinks and stretches a few times before reaching out to grab the tea, then the note.

“Louis,” the note reads. “Had to teach an early morning yoga class. If you’re not here by the time I get back, I’ll see you tonight. Zayn and Liam invited me over for dinner. Be my date?” Louis smiles, before noticing the sentence scrawled on the bottom of the page. “PS: Be my valentine?”

“Of course,” Louis mutters aloud to himself. “Of course I would have sex with someone I’d casually been dating for only two fucking weeks the night before Valentine’s Day. That doesn’t seem too serious, does it?” 

He rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow and groaning, before realizing that the pillow smells like Harry, which, he hates to admit, does calm him down a bit. He thinks of Harry and how beautiful he is, gasping and covered in a sheen of sweat. Louis’s burst of confidence had faltered once they reached Harry’s bed, but Harry had no problem taking control, pressing Louis into the mattress, both of them fumbling a bit in the dark, but it was somehow perfect, without the awkwardness Louis normally associates with sex with new people. He stands up, collects his clothing from around Harry’s bedroom floor, wondering where his shirt is, before deciding to just steal one from Harry, a dark gray v neck that hangs off Louis a bit. 

He walks over to Harry’s door, and decides to leave it unlocked for a minute as a ridiculously corny idea pops into his head. He runs out to the nearest convenience store, purchases his item and deposits it on Harry’s kitchen counter, chastising himself the entire time for how cheesy and stupid he’s being. He shuts Harry’s door behind him, locked this time, and sets off for work.

Later that evening, Louis is sitting on his balcony, unsure of what time Harry wanted to leave, so he decided to sit and wait until Harry came looking for him.

“Hey, Tomlinson!” Louis hears a rumbling voice yell, before being pelted in the arm with something small and solid. He reaches down and picks it up, realizing it’s a candy heart, from the box he left on Harry’s counter. 

“Who knew you could be so cutesy?” Harry grins, tossing another heart at Louis. 

“Hey!” Louis exclaims as the next hits him in the eye. “You know, typically, someone who receives Valentine’s candy from someone else eats it! They don’t throw it at people! Are you five?”

“I did eat them,” Harry replies. “I’m only tossing you certain messages. I sorted through them earlier.”

Louis picks up the hearts and reads the messages using the flashlight on his phone. “Kiss Me” is written on all of them. 

“What do you think?” Harry asks, tossing another at him.

“I think I can do that,” Louis says, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin.

“So come over and kiss me, you fool!” Harry yells, jumping around like an overexcited puppy. 

Louis doesn’t have to be told twice.

Harry drives them to Zayn and Liam’s, holding Louis’s hand over the center console. He’s a good driver, unlike Louis, who tends to speed and slam on his brakes. 

“So, why would Zayn and Liam, a young, attractive couple who just had a baby, invite you over on Valentine’s day?” Louis asks, studying Harry’s profile. “I mean, it’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Harry replies, flicking his eyes over to Louis for a second. “But they actually hate this holiday, so they normally don’t celebrate it. And I haven’t had a valentine in a couple years, so we normally spent it together.”

“Do you hate this holiday?” 

“Um…I think it’s a little awkward, being forced to celebrate loving someone when you should do that every day. But I like the idea of showing someone you love them, even in a non-romantic way. I give my sister and my mum valentine’s every year, actually,” Harry admits.

Louis actually laughs, loudly, before getting out, “That’s such a Harry answer! Did you make one for Persephone as well?”

“We can’t all be as cool as you, Lou,” Harry replies. “And no. Persephone is quite secure in my love for her.”

“Of course she is,” Louis condescends, mocking Harry but secretly finding it cute how much Harry cares about other people. It’s one of his best attributes.

They pull up to the front of Zayn and Liam’s house, walking slowly to their front door before Harry knocks briefly and lets himself and Louis in.

“Harry!” Liam smiles warmly, pulling Harry into a hug. “And Louis! It’s so nice to see you.”

“Thanks for having us,” Louis says to Liam, eyes following Harry as he shrugs out of his coat and walks down the hall, bellowing “Where’s my princess?”

“Zayn’s just feeding Isla,” Liam tells Louis. “She probably won’t eat once she sees Harry. She gets so excited when he comes over.”

Louis only smiles, unsure of what to say to that, but Liam offers to take his coat and motions for Louis to follow him to a small but cozy kitchen, where Harry is holding a baby with orange hair, making silly faces while Zayn dabs at a spot on his shirt.

“She threw her food at you again?” Liam asks, brow wrinkled, as he grabs the towel from Zayn and cleans up what must be Isla’s dinner that is green against Zayn’s black t shirt.

“She definitely does not like peas,” Zayn says. Harry’s tickling her now, eliciting happy little giggles from Isla.

“Can’t say I blame her,” Louis mutters.

“Um, Zayn? I think she needs a diaper change?” Harry calls, wrinkling his nose at Isla and tickling her tummy. 

“I’ll take her,” Zayn says, swooping Isla out of Harry’s arms and carrying her up the stairs. Harry excuses himself to use the restroom, and it’s just Louis and Liam in Liam and Zayn’s kitchen. Louis is not so good at making conversation with people, and feels a bit awkward, which only gets worse once Liam asks how it’s going with Harry.

“It’s good,” Louis says, knowing Liam wants something more than just those two words, but isn’t a relationship private, anyway? If they’re even in a relationship at all.

“Look, Louis, no offense, I know you’re quiet and whatever, but I want you to know that Harry is the best person I know. He’s my best friend. And yeah, he’s a little weird, but he’s weird in the best ways, you know? He’s the most genuine and kind lad I’ve ever seen, and he always sees the best in people. But he gets attached to everything, even his bloody plants! (Louis smirks a little when he hears Liam say that). He’s too good to have his heart broken,” Liam finishes softly, looking at Louis with a question in his eyes.

Louis nods once, showing Liam he understood. He understood loud and clear. And suddenly, Harry telling him that they have a future and Louis buying him stupid candy hearts isn’t cute, it’s terrifying. A pit of fear’s growing deep in his stomach, a voice in his head telling him to get out before he’s in too deep. He likes Harry, but Louis doesn’t know how to act in relationships, or if he’s even in one at all. Louis has been independent since he could remember. He had his family, yes, but his mom was always preoccupied with his younger sisters and her boyfriends and husbands. He was teased in school, for his height, his high-pitched voice, his glasses. He always squared himself off before someone came too close, and he thinks he built his own walls to strong for him to take them down. 

“What did I miss?” Harry asks, bounding back into the room. 

“I was just telling Louis about how weird you are,” Liam teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiles.

“He likes my weirdness,” Harry replies easily, sliding into the seat next to Louis, taking his hand and kissing his cheek. Louis tries not to squirm, feeling pressure on him as he watches Liam study him and Harry together. 

Zayn comes downstairs and they eat while Isla sits in her playpen, and talk for a while after Liam puts her to bed, but Louis can’t focus on anything but the fear clawing into his head and his heart and the tight grip Harry has on his hand that starts to feel like a cage, locking him in and suffocating him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fight. Or Harry fights. Louis is pretty much nonexistent in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I don't love this chapter. I don't. I'll be completely honest. I rushed it, partly because I have an idea in my head for their future and I want to get to it soon, so this had to be written first. But also because my ultimate goal was to have this storyline completed before my birthday. It's most likely not going to happen, since my birthday is Monday, but I wanted to. So yeah. Please comment, yell at me, whatever you feel is necessary. I get it. I kind of hated me too after all of this. Written from Harry's POV this time. Which was much more difficult, since I'm being honest and all.

Harry has never been one to quit easily. He fights for everything. He never gave up on Liam, when he and Liam would have blow out fights that took multiple apologies to get past. He never gave up on his plants, even the ones who looked like they were dead, brown and crisp and dry. He doesn’t give up on the worst yoga students, the one who can barely do a child’s pose and seem more determined to say they can’t do a pose than to actually try it. And he doesn’t want to give up on Louis, who has been growing more and more distant since Valentine’s Day. Louis, who he fought so hard to win over, is proving to be his greatest challenge. 

He notices how quiet Louis is on the drive home from Zayn and Liam’s, but he knows that Valentine’s Day is a rough holiday for more seasoned couples, so a little distance on what is supposed to be the most romantic holiday of the year from the man who you just shagged the night before isn’t entirely surprising. But he expects Louis to bounce back, at least a little bit, not grow more distant. For a quiet person, Louis’ absence leaves a remarkably large, empty presence in Harry’s flat, on his balcony, in his thoughts. He feels the want, the need for Louis all the time, constantly, and he doesn’t know how to tame it down. 

Harry tries to never text or call Louis more than once in a row, but he can’t help it after Louis’ answers start coming fewer and farther between. If iPhones could think for themselves, Harry’s pretty sure his would tell him to stop waiting by the phone like a teenage girl and go out and do something with his life. And to get a new ringtone, because honestly, who wants to hear Simon and Garfunkel every time their phone rings? That’s what Louis would say, anyway.

He can’t help himself, though. The more Louis pulls away, the more Harry wants him. It’s a vicious cycle. He asks him to dinner, to the movies, to stargaze, to do whatever the fuck Louis wants, and the silence is deafening. 

Harry noticed Louis the first night he moved in. Louis was on his balcony, smoking, as Harry unloaded boxes and moved plastic pots and bags of soil onto the balcony of his new home, trying to make himself at home. Harry hates smoking, always has, but something about Louis stopped him from issuing his patented lecture on secondhand smoke and lung disease. He liked watching Louis sit outside in the dark, smoking and staring at the moon. Harry had always been a morning person, but when he saw Louis sit in the cool night air for hours on end, he understood why people loved the night. He saw Louis a few days later when he stopped to buy tea, scowling behind the counter as a large line of teenagers began ordering the most complicated drinks on the menu. For someone who smiles so often, Harry found Louis’ scowl quite endearing. It was like a puppy trying to look intimidating. It could happen, but more often, it was just wishful thinking. 

Louis had eyes that were too alive to be intimidating, Harry had decided. Louis rolled his bright blue eyes more often than not, but they also gave away what he was really thinking. The twinkle when he laughed at something Niall said, the compassion when Eleanor nearly broke down in tears her first afternoon on the job. Harry especially loved the small smirk Louis would have, either when a customer said something he didn’t want to laugh at but found funny, or when Louis was thinking something particularly evil. Harry didn’t have to know him to know that ninety percent of Louis’ happiness came from himself, not anything else.

What Harry found most impressive was the emotion he could just feel, radiating off of Louis as he sat on his balcony. When Louis was sad, the sighs and the lazy way he held his cigarette made it seem more obvious than a scream. Harry could feel Louis’ frustration with him building as he read to Persephone and did early morning yoga.   
He knew it was only a matter of time before Louis exploded, and, if he was being honest with himself, he was slightly looking forward to it. Not for any romantic or ulterior motive, but solely to hear Louis say something, anything. He knew the words would come out of Louis eventually. He had the patience to wait then, but he doesn’t anymore. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Li,” Harry complains at Liam’s kitchen table as he watches his best friend feed his baby.

“Have you talked to him?” Liam asks, never looking away from Isla’s face, a big smile breaking out and crinkling the corners of his eyes when she successfully swallows a bite.

“I’ve tried. He’s nowhere. Nowhere and everywhere. It’s like he tainted my apartment, Liam. I can’t look at my damn balcony without thinking of him. Even my plants seem to know he’s missing. They look all droopy and sad.”

“Oh, Harry. Don’t be ridiculous,” Liam chides, but gently. “Maybe he got a little freaked out. He didn’t really seem like the relationship type, you know? He was so moody.”

“He isn’t moody, he’s thoughtful. Contemplative. And maybe he isn’t the relationship type, I don’t know. I can’t know. How can I know anything when he won’t pick up the bloody phone?”

“I don’t know, Harry. I’m sorry. But if he doesn’t want to talk, you can’t make him, can you? He’s going to have to want to do it himself.”

Harry gives it a couple of weeks before he breaks. It’s been three days since he’s heard from Louis, and even longer since he’s actually seen him. It’s four in the morning, Harry is up, a new habit he’s been developing, and he hears a door slide open from the adjacent building. He doesn’t have to look to see who it is. 

“So…are you going to tell me what’s been going on?” 

Louis whips around, eyes widened, clearly not expecting Harry to still be awake at this hour. Insomnia has always been Louis’ specialty, not Harry’s.

“I, um..” Louis falters, clearly not knowing what to answer with. Harry’s not exactly surprised. Louis rarely speaks without thinking. 

“You what? You’ve been avoiding me? You’ve been ignoring my texts and calls, sneaking around at night to avoid seeing me?” What the fuck, Louis?” Harry spits, trying to control his temper but knowing he’s reached the point of no control. Harry very rarely gets angry, but when he does, he gives in and let’s his anger control him, dragging him around until he runs out of steam. Harry gives his anger his all, allowing the adrenaline and emotion coursing through his veins to take him over, building him up to his full height, making his green eyes darken and fixate, like laser beams, onto Louis. His voice is no longer smooth and comforting, maple syrup being poured. It’s rough, scratchy as though it’s not used to being raised to such a high volume. 

Louis just stands there, looking at Harry with a mix of emotions on his face. Surprise, from hearing Harry raise his voice for the first time. Hurt, a little, because Harry’s yelling at him. Louis deserves it, but he is sensitive, and Harry’s harsh tone hurts. Guilt, clearly. And underneath all of that, a look of longing in his piercing blue eyes.

“Well, I’ve been really busy and-“

“Oh, don’t even start that bullshit with me, Louis! You act like you’re falling in love with me for a couple weeks and then decide you don’t have the time? And don’t even say you’ve been writing, because I’ve seen the cigarette butts on your ashtray. You only smoke when you can’t think straight, and I know that when you’re writing, you don’t smoke at all.” 

Louis just looks at Harry, not saying anything.

“And don’t stare at me like that! You either want me or you don’t, and you’re either going to fight for me or you’re not. But I can’t just stand here and wait around for you to decide what the hell is going on inside your brain! Cut the shit, Louis. I know there’s something wrong, but if you won’t tell me, I think I’ve given up on figuring you out.”

“Harry,” Louis whispers, his face looking like he was slapped. Hurt is the only visible emotion he has now.

“Say something, Louis! If you want me, then now is the time. Say something, before I go back inside, because once I do, we’re done!”

Louis looks down at his feet, the silence deafening. 

“You know what? Fine. Don’t say anything. I can’t be the only one to act in this relationship, or whatever this is, Louis. I can’t keep making all the moves and hoping and praying you’re going to return them. I thought we had something Louis, but I think I was mistaken.”

Harry turns to leave, but stops himself, turning to look at Louis again, like he just can’t help himself. His tone is gentler this time, his eyes kinder, as he nearly whispers, “You’re a great writer, Lou. I know you have the words in there somewhere. But I can’t just wait in silence until you find them.”

And with that, Harry turns around and goes inside, leaving Louis alone with the cold moon and his thoughts to keep him company.

Louis knows he should call after Harry, or run over to his apartment, or yell or scream or do something. But instead, he sits and stares. He stares at the moon until she begins to fade, being replaced by the sun. He thinks and thinks until something sparks and the words hit him. And he could run over to Harry’s, or call him, or do anything really. But instead, he gets up, sits at his desk, and begins to write.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Finished! I hope you guys like it, and I want to know what you think, whether you love it or hate it or something in between! I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you enjoyed reading it! I'm going to follow this up, I'm pretty sure, so stay tuned for something else! Thank you to everyone who's been leaving kudos, bookmarking, or commenting! I'm so thankful for it all :)
> 
> Also, I'm SO SORRY it took me so long to add this last chapter. Between my birthday, my dad's birthday, working, and two different concerts, I had like no time this week. I banged this chapter out within the last two hours, but I was desperate to finish it.

Harry startles, hearing a frantic pounding on his door. He had dozed off on his couch, tired from working, offering to babysit Isla, and the effort he’s exerted trying not to think about Louis or even look at his apartment. He was finally sleeping, in that comfortable place between awake and dead to the world, just enough to have the shit scared out of him by the heavy knocking that has yet to cease.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, give me a minute,” he mumbles, more to himself than his guest as he rouses himself off the couch and adjusts his clothing. He runs his palm over his face, trying to wake himself back up. It’s most likely Zayn and Liam, and probably Isla, trying to get him to go out with them and do something other than work or mope around. It’s been almost a week since his fight with Louis that ended with nothing, absolutely nothing, and though Harry feels devastated on the inside, he’s trying to tell himself it was a month long relationship, if that, if it was even a relationship at all. Nothing to be heartbroken over. But he can’t help it. It feels like someone punched him right in the heart and shackled weights to his body, making everything he does feel slow and slightly painful. Not moving at all has been preferable, but Harry has always been one to fight through the pain, not let it overtake him. He taught his own yoga class and volunteered to sub some others, has been taking some photos, and spending a lot of time with Liam and Zayn. He hasn’t slept more than a few hours each night, and he hasn’t seen Louis since, has avoided the balcony late at night, making his tea at home. Harry thinks Louis probably hasn’t missed him at all, judging by the complete lack of noise and cigarette smoke Harry has received coming from his direction.

The knocking continues. Harry finally gets to the door and swings it open, about to say hello, but stops. 

“Louis?”

“I finished my book,” Louis says, by way of greeting. He looks nervous. Nervous and tired. His caramel hair is greasy, his handsome face covered in thick stubble. He’s wearing ratty gray sweatpants and a tank top, and Harry wants to hate him, point out how horrible he looks, but he stops. He doesn’t say anything, just stares, like he and Louis have switched places. He wants to be mean, spiteful, angry, but his good nature betrays him. Harry knows how hard Louis has worked, how desperately he wanted to finish his novel, that he can’t help but feel a little happy for his ex maybe-boyfriend.

“Um…that’s great, Lou. But why are you here?”

“Because you were right, Harry. Of course you were right. I did have the words in me, and I just needed to push myself to get them out. I finished it because of you, because you were my catalyst and you drove me to finish it. And because I realized that once I finished it, the only person I wanted to tell was you. You and only you. If you’ll let me, that is.” Louis looks up at Harry, electric blue eyes staring out from under his long lashes, and Harry feels his heart caving in as he looks at Louis, nervous and excited and desperate.

“Come in.” Harry steps back, letting Louis into his home, recording it all in his mind in case Louis never walks through his doorway again, sitting awkwardly on Harry’s couch. 

Harry lets Louis talk for a few minutes, rambling about his book, and Harry can’t help but notice how excited Louis is, how his eyes look so awake despite the dark circles underneath and how is leg won’t sit still, bouncing up and down like a maniac. Louis has never spoken so much in one breath before, at least not to Harry, and he’s honestly a little stunned. 

“Harry?” Louis asks suddenly, gazing at Harry, taking in his chestnut curls and his skewed black t shirt, showing off his right collarbone and the tattoos there. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” Louis blurts, forgoing all book talk for a minute. “I really am. I shouldn’t have just ditched you, without saying anything. I kicked myself repeatedly for not saying something back, but I needed to think about it. I had so much I wanted to say, but I just couldn’t, and I feel like total shit for it. You looked so small every time I didn’t say anything. I don’t ever want to make you feel small, because you’re not. You’re, like, everything wonderful and important and you matter so much. You’re never small.”

“So why’d you do it?” Harry’s heart sings when he hears Louis apologize, ready to forgive him then and there. But he wants to know, needs to know, why Louis just left, without a word.

“I don’t really know what to say, Harry. I wish I did. I guess I’ve always been an independent person, and I pride myself on it. It scared me to see myself become attached to someone else. I’m not really like that, you know? So I was happy with you but I had this little niggling thought in the back of my mind, and when Liam said that-“

“What did Liam say?” Harry growled, eyes flashing.

“Nothing bad!” Louis exclaims quickly, trying not to throw Liam under the bus. He knows that if he ever wants to get serious with Harry, if Harry will let him, he has some serious apologizing to do to Liam, and he doesn’t think it will be easy. “He just made it clear that if I was going to be with you, I had to have my shit together, and be totally committed to it. He said you’re too good to have your heart broken. And you are. And I’m sorry. Again.”

“If that’s all Liam said, then why’d you run away?” Harry prompts, gently. He doesn’t want Louis to feel interrogated, but he needs to have this conversation now, before he loses all control and either jumps on Louis or kicks him out. “I mean, it doesn’t sound like he said anything too bad. What’s wrong with you that you don’t have it all together?”

“Really, Harry? Look at me. I’m twenty-six and I work at a fucking Starbucks. I have greasy hair half the time and I never sleep. I spent years working on a novel that I essentially wrote in three days. I’m moody. I don’t have a lot of friends. I’m not easy to get along with. And I never want to deal with anything. I either run or cut it off at the first sign of conflict. And I kind of think that Liam was right. I need to get myself in order before I belong to someone else, yeah?”

With that last bit, Harry’s heart sinks to his toes, through his shoes, through the floor and all the way to the core of the Earth. He didn’t have much hope that Louis would want to get back together, but the bit that was left has been shredded to pieces. Until he realizes that it doesn’t have to be this way. It’s Harry’s relationship, too. Louis can’t call all the shots.

“So you’re saying that you can’t be in a relationship because you don’t have yourself all figured out in your midtwenties? You don’t have to, Louis. Life is about figuring it all out. John Lennon was right when he said ‘life is what happens when you make other plans,’ wasn’t he?” Harry feels like he’s almost pleading, trying so hard not to grab Louis and kiss him until Louis agrees to stay.

“Well,” Louis says slowly, “I was kind of hoping we could have it both ways? I want to be with you, Harry, I really do, but I can’t promise I’m not going to freak out on you again. All I can say is that I’ll try. I’ll try so hard to be the best I can be for you and for me. And I know I need to stop being so moody and answer my text messages and take things less seriously all the time. It’s just hard. But I want to get better. I just need to figure out how to balance independence with a relationship. I always hated those couples who seem so codependent on each other, you know? It’s like each half of the couple is not themselves without the other around. But I don’t want to be like that. I want to be myself, always, with and without you, but especially with.” 

Louis sucks in a breath and looks at Harry, eyes wide. Harry grins, slowly, but happily, as his grin takes over his entire face. Louis swears he’s never seen anything as bright and beautiful as Harry, his smile lights up his entire being into a golden glow. Like he’s the sun. He’s the sun and Louis is the moon and they need each other, balance each other, compliment each other without overwhelming their partner. 

‘Let’s go,” Harry says, grabbing Louis’ hand and intertwining their fingers. He pulls them both up to their feet, keeping his grip tight on Louis’ smaller hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To the balcony, of course. I can’t very well take you back without Persephone’s consent, can I?”

“You’re such an idiot,” Louis retorts, with a loving laugh as he follows Harry outside into the cold night air. 

The two men lay awake for hours, talking and laughing under a cocoon of blankets and pillows, arms and legs and fingers tangled in each other. Louis is the first to lean in, kissing Harry fully and deeply, reveling in the feeling of Harry’s thin lips on his. He tastes like warmth, like happiness, and Louis thinks maybe Harry is the missing piece, the softness he’s needed to round out his edges.

“God, what was I thinking?” Louis mumbles against Harry’s mouth.

“It’s ok to be scared, Louis. It would be stupid not to be. You just can’t run from it, you know? I like having you around. And so do the plants. I think they needed you, Louis. Look at how perky their leaves are!”

Louis rolls his eyes and laughs, kissing Harry again. They stay like that for a long time, until Harry is desperate to take off Louis’s clothes and finally be with him again. He pulls away to start standing up, when Louis grasps his hand and pulls him down.

“No. Stay.”

“But we’re outside and I need you, Lou. Need you bad,” Harry whines into Louis’ neck, sucking love bites onto his skin. 

“So let’s just do it,” Louis says, a wicked glint in his eye.

“Really?” Harry asks, eyes wide. “But I want you to be comfortable and-“

“Come on, Harry. I mean it. Now shut up and kiss me.”

Louis wakes up the next morning surprisingly warm for sleeping outdoors in late winter with next to no clothing on. He feels Harry’s strong arms wrapped tightly around him and the tickle of Harry’s breath on his neck. He realizes this is the first night in ages he’s slept so soundly, and smiles. He’s happier then he’s ever been, a combination of completing his novel and getting Harry back. He can do this. He wants to do this. He wants Harry, and needs Harry, and even loves Harry, and Louis can’t wait to tell him. It’s going to take him a while, he knows that, but it’s ok. As long as he gets there, eventually. He knows Harry will be waiting for him when he does, with his sunshine grin and boyish curls and emerald eyes. 

Louis has so much he wants to do, so much he wants to say, but for now he sighs contentedly and snuggles back into Harry’s arms, surrounded by sunshine and Harry and yes, the plants. He wouldn’t want it any other way.


End file.
